#thirsty days of september

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Greenwashing set Canada on fire

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

As a teenager growing up in Ontario, I always envied the kids who spent their summers tree planting; they'd come back from the bush in September, insect-chewed and leathery, with new muscle, incredible stories, thousands of dollars, and a glow imparted by the knowledge that they'd made a new forest with their own blistered hands.

I was too unathletic to follow them into the bush, but I spent my summers doing my bit, ringing doorbells for Greenpeace to get my neighbours fired up about the Canadian pulp-and-paper industry, which wasn't merely clear-cutting our old-growth forests – it was also poisoning the Great Lakes system with PCBs, threatening us all.

At the time, I thought of tree-planting as a small victory – sure, our homegrown, rapacious, extractive industry was able to pollute with impunity, but at least the government had reined them in on forests, forcing them to pay my pals to spend their summers replacing the forests they'd fed into their mills.

I was wrong. Last summer's Canadian wildfires blanketed the whole east coast and midwest in choking smoke as millions of trees burned and millions of tons of CO2 were sent into the atmosphere. Those wildfires weren't just an effect of the climate emergency: they were made far worse by all those trees planted by my pals in the eighties and nineties.

Writing in the New York Times, novelist Claire Cameron describes her own teen years working in the bush, planting row after row of black spruces, precisely spaced at six-foot intervals:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/15/opinion/wildfires-treeplanting-timebomb.html

Cameron's summer job was funded by the logging industry, whose self-pegulated, self-assigned "penalty" for clearcutting diverse forests of spruce, pine and aspen was to pay teenagers to create a tree farm, at nine cents per sapling (minus camp costs).

Black spruces are made to burn, filled with flammable sap and equipped with resin-filled cones that rely on fire, only opening and dropping seeds when they're heated. They're so flammable that firefighters call them "gas on a stick."

Cameron and her friends planted under brutal conditions: working long hours in blowlamp heat and dripping wet bulb humidity, amidst clouds of stinging insects, fingers blistered and muscles aching. But when they hit rock bottom and were ready to quit, they'd encourage one another with a rallying cry: "Let's go make a forest!"

Planting neat rows of black spruces was great for the logging industry: the even spacing guaranteed that when the trees matured, they could be easily reaped, with ample space between each near-identical tree for massive shears to operate. But that same monocropped, evenly spaced "forest" was also optimized to burn.

It burned.

The climate emergency's frequent droughts turn black spruces into "something closer to a blowtorch." The "pines in lines" approach to reforesting was an act of sabotage, not remediation. Black spruces are thirsty, and they absorb the water that moss needs to thrive, producing "kindling in the place of fire retardant."

Cameron's column concludes with this heartbreaking line: "Now when I think of that summer, I don’t think that I was planting trees at all. I was planting thousands of blowtorches a day."

The logging industry committed a triple crime. First, they stole our old-growth forests. Next, they (literally) planted a time-bomb across Ontario's north. Finally, they stole the idealism of people who genuinely cared about the environment. They taught a generation that resistance is futile, that anything you do to make a better future is a scam, and you're a sucker for falling for it. They planted nihilism with every tree.

That scam never ended. Today, we're sold carbon offsets, a modern Papal indulgence. We are told that if we pay the finance sector, they can absolve us for our climate sins. Carbon offsets are a scam, a market for lemons. The "offset" you buy might be a generated by a fake charity like the Nature Conservancy, who use well-intentioned donations to buy up wildlife reserves that can't be logged, which are then converted into carbon credits by promising not to log them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#greenwashing

The credit-card company that promises to plant trees every time you use your card? They combine false promises, deceptive advertising, and legal threats against critics to convince you that you're saving the planet by shopping:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/17/do-well-do-good-do-nothing/#greenwashing

The carbon offset world is full of scams. The carbon offset that made the thing you bought into a "net zero" product? It might be a forest that already burned:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/11/a-market-for-flaming-lemons/#money-for-nothing

The only reason we have carbon offsets is that market cultists have spent forty years convincing us that actual regulation is impossible. In the neoliberal learned helplessness mind-palace, there's no way to simply say, "You may not log old-growth forests." Rather, we have to say, "We will 'align your incentives' by making you replace those forests."

The Climate Ad Project's "Murder Offsets" video deftly punctures this bubble. In it, a detective points his finger at the man who committed the locked-room murder in the isolated mansion. The murderer cheerfully admits that he did it, but produces a "murder offset," which allowed him to pay someone else not to commit a murder, using market-based price-discovery mechanisms to put a dollar-figure on the true worth of a murder, which he duly paid, making his kill absolutely fine:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

What's the alternative to murder offsets/carbon credits? We could ask our expert regulators to decide which carbon intensive activities are necessary and which ones aren't, and ban the unnecessary ones. We could ask those regulators to devise remediation programs that actually work. After all, there are plenty of forests that have already been clearcut, plenty that have burned. It would be nice to know how we can plant new forests there that aren't "thousands of blowtorches."

If that sounds implausible to you, then you've gotten trapped in the neoliberal mind-palace.

The term "regulatory capture" was popularized by far-right Chicago School economists who were promoting "public choice theory." In their telling, regulatory capture is inevitable, because companies will spend whatever it takes to get the government to pass laws making what they do legal, and making competing with them into a crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/13/public-choice/#ajit-pai-still-terrible

This is true, as far as it goes. Capitalists hate capitalism, and if an "entrepreneur" can make it illegal to compete with him, he will. But while this is a reasonable starting-point, the place that Public Choice Theory weirdos get to next is bonkers. They say that since corporations will always seek to capture their regulators, we should abolish regulators.

They say that it's impossible for good regulations to exist, and therefore the only regulation that is even possible is to let businesses do whatever they want and wait for the invisible hand to sweep away the bad companies. Rather than creating hand-washing rules for restaurant kitchens, we should let restaurateurs decide whether it's economically rational to make us shit ourselves to death. The ones that choose poorly will get bad online reviews and people will "vote with their dollars" for the good restaurants.

And if the online review site decides to sell "reputation management" to restaurants that get bad reviews? Well, soon the public will learn that the review site can't be trusted and they'll take their business elsewhere. No regulation needed! Unleash the innovators! Set the job-creators free!

This is the Ur-nihilism from which all the other nihilism springs. It contends that the regulations we have – the ones that keep our buildings from falling down on our heads, that keep our groceries from poisoning us, that keep our cars from exploding on impact – are either illusory, or perhaps the forgotten art of a lost civilization. Making good regulations is like embalming Pharaohs, something the ancients practiced in mist-shrouded, unrecoverable antiquity – and that may not have happened at all.

Regulation is corruptible, but it need not be corrupt. Regulation, like science, is a process of neutrally adjudicated, adversarial peer-review. In a robust regulatory process, multiple parties respond to a fact-intensive question – "what alloys and other properties make a reinforced steel joist structurally sound?" – with a mix of robust evidence and self-serving bullshit and then proceed to sort the two by pantsing each other, pointing out one another's lies.

The regulator, an independent expert with no conflicts of interest, sorts through the claims and counterclaims and makes a rule, showing their workings and leaving the door open to revisiting the rule based on new evidence or challenges to the evidence presented.

But when an industry becomes concentrated, it becomes unregulatable. 100 small and medium-sized companies will squabble. They'll struggle to come up with a common lie. There will always be defectors in their midst. Their conduct will be legible to external experts, who will be able to spot the self-serving BS.

But let that industry dwindle to a handful of giant companies, let them shrink to a number that will fit around a boardroom table, and they will sit down at a table and agree on a cozy arrangement that fucks us all over to their benefit. They will become so inbred that the only people who understand how they work will be their own insiders, and so top regulators will be drawn from their own number and be hopelessly conflicted.

When the corporate sector takes over, regulatory capture is inevitable. But corporate takeover isn't inevitable. We can – and have, and will again – fight corporate power, with antitrust law, with unions, and with consumer rights groups. Knowing things is possible. It simply requires that we keep the entities that profit by our confusion poor and thus weak.

The thing is, corporations don't always lie about regulations. Take the fight over working encryption, which – once again – the UK government is trying to ban:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/feb/24/signal-app-warns-it-will-quit-uk-if-law-weakens-end-to-end-encryption

Advocates for criminalising working encryption insist that the claims that this is impossible are the same kind of self-serving nonsense as claims that banning clearcutting of old-growth forests is impossible:

https://twitter.com/JimBethell/status/1699339739042599276

They say that when technologists say, "We can't make an encryption system that keeps bad guys out but lets good guys in," that they are being lazy and unimaginative. "I have faith in you geeks," they said. "Go nerd harder! You'll figure it out."

Google and Apple and Meta say that selectively breakable encryption is impossible. But they also claim that a bunch of eminently possible things are impossible. Apple claims that it's impossible to have a secure device where you get to decide which software you want to use and where publishers aren't deprive of 30 cents on every dollar you spend. Google says it's impossible to search the web without being comprehensively, nonconsensually spied upon from asshole to appetite. Meta insists that it's impossible to have digital social relationship without having your friendships surveilled and commodified.

While they're not lying about encryption, they are lying about these other things, and sorting out the lies from the truth is the job of regulators, but that job is nearly impossible thanks to the fact that everyone who runs a large online service tells the same lies – and the regulators themselves are alumni of the industry's upper eschelons.

Logging companies know a lot about forests. When we ask, "What is the best way to remediate our forests," the companies may well have useful things to say. But those useful things will be mixed with actively harmful lies. The carefully cultivated incompetence of our regulators means that they can't tell the difference.

Conspiratorialism is characterized as a problem of what people believe, but the true roots of conspiracy belief isn't what we believe, it's how we decide what to believe. It's not beliefs, it's epistemology.

Because most of us aren't qualified to sort good reforesting programs from bad ones. And even if we are, we're probably not also well-versed enough in cryptography to sort credible claims about encryption from wishful thinking. And even if we're capable of making that determination, we're not experts in food hygiene or structural engineering.

Daily life in the 21st century means resolving a thousand life-or-death technical questions every day. Our regulators – corrupted by literally out-of-control corporations – are no longer reliable sources of ground truth on these questions. The resulting epistemological chaos is a cancer that gnaws away at our resolve to do anything about it. It is a festering pool where nihilism outbreaks are incubated.

The liberal response to conspiratorialism is mockery. In her new book Doppelganger, Naomi Klein tells of how right-wing surveillance fearmongering about QR-code "vaccine passports" was dismissed with a glib, "Wait until they hear about cellphones!"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

But as Klein points out, it's not good that our cellphones invade our privacy in the way that right-wing conspiracists thought that vaccine passports might. The nihilism of liberalism – which insists that things can't be changed except through market "solutions" – leads us to despair.

By contrast, leftism – a muscular belief in democratic, publicly run planning and action – offers a tonic to nihilism. We don't have to let logging companies decide whether a forest can be cut, or what should be planted when it is. We can have nice things. The art of finding out what's true or prudent didn't die with the Reagan Revolution (or the discount Canadian version, the Mulroney Malaise). The truth is knowable. Doing stuff is possible. Things don't have to be on fire.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/16/murder-offsets/#pulped-and-papered

[undeadcourier]

Ghouls are, put simply, humans suffering from advanced, prolonged radiation sickness and whose bodies have mutated such that gamma radiation extends their lifespan past natural limits.

The process of ghoulification is outlined in canon sources, but I wanted to make a guide that goes into more detail on the effects of radiation sickness in various cases, since the level and type of exposure significantly affects the outcome.

This is the first in what will be a series of posts exploring both real-life cases of radiation sickness and the sci-fi concept of ghoulification in some depth. Graphic descriptions of the physical deterioration of the body are included for informative purposes; reader discretion is advised.

For this first case study, I examine the effects on the human body of exposure to high levels of radiation in a short period of time, with a focus on the real case of Hisashi Ouchi.

On September 30, 1999, a lack of appropriate safety measures and the proper materials resulted in an accident that caused three workers at the nuclear power plant in Tōkai-mura, Japan, to suffer from severe radiation poisoning while purifying reactor fuel.

Point of Criticality

An uncontrolled fission reaction was produced when technicians poured nearly seven times the legal limit of uranium oxide into an improper vessel containing nitric acid. The men reported seeing a bright blue flash—indicative of Cherenkov radiation—when the mixture reached critical mass, flooding the room with radiation. The workers evacuated to the decontamination room, but already, the two who had been handling the reactive solution were overcome with intense pain from radiation burns, severe nausea, and difficulty breathing. Hisashi Ouchi, who suffered the highest level of exposure, also experienced rapid difficulties with mobility and coherence. Upon reaching the decontamination room, he vomited and fell unconscious.

~1 Hour Post-Exposure

Ouchi regained consciousness in the hospital about 70 minutes after the criticality accident, where doctors confirmed that he had been exposed to high doses of gamma, neutron, and other radiation.

The maximum allowable annual dose of radiation for nuclear technicians in Japan was 50 millisieverts. Exposure to more than 7 sieverts is considered fatal. Yutaka Yokokawa, the supervisor, had received 3 sieverts. The technicians who had been handling the uranium, Masato Shinohara and Hisashi Ouchi, received 10 sieverts and 17 sieverts, respectively.

~1 Day+ Post-Exposure

During the first few days in the ICU, Ouchi appeared to be in remarkably good condition, given the circumstances: the skin of his face and right hand was slightly red, as if by a sunburn, and swollen. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reported pain under his ear and right hand, which had received the most direct exposure, but he could speak normally, and he joked with the doctors and nurses attending to him.

6 Days Post-Exposure

Tests revealed that the high energy radiation that Ouchi had been exposed to had obliterated the chromosomes in his bone marrow. They were unrecognizable—some severed, some fused, all out of order. This damage meant that his body was unable to create new blood cells. The red blood cells that transport oxygen could not be replaced, and Ouchi's white blood cell count was near zero, leaving him extremely vulnerable to infection.

~1 Week+ Post-Exposure

Intensive treatments, including numerous skin grafts, blood and bone marrow transfusions, and revolutionary stem cell transplants were conducted in an attempt to stabilize Ouchi, but ultimately without lasting success.

The skin grafts couldn't hold; when medical tape was peeled from his skin, his skin came with it, and the marks left behind couldn't heal. Blisters like those of a burn appeared on his right hand.

Ouchi reported frequently that he was thirsty.

~10 Days Post-Exposure

By this point, Ouchi's oxygen levels were so low that even speaking required tremendous effort. Ouchi was placed on supplemental oxygen and required sedatives to be able to sleep.

2 Weeks+ Post-Exposure

Ouchi was no longer able to eat and required an IV. By day sixteen, most of the skin on the front side of his body had fallen off.

His low platelet count and lack of healthy skin meant that his blood and bodily fluids leaked through his damaged pores, resulting in unstable blood pressure.

Donor stem cells that were meant to allow his body to create new tissue were also destroyed by the radiation present in his body.

~1 Month Post-Exposure

On the 27th day following the accident, Ouchi suffered from intense diarrhea. The mucus layer of his large intestine had vanished, exposing the red submucosal layer beneath. His body could no longer disgest or absorb anything he ingested; even water was excreted as diarrhea.

The skin of Ouchi's right hand was almost entirely gone, leaving the surface of his hand raw and dark red. Blisters spread across his right arm and abdomen, then over his entire body. Gauze was required to replace his skin, and his fingers had to be individually wrapped to prevent them from sticking together. Without skin to keep him warm, Ouchi required an electrothermic device to maintain his body temperature while his bandages were changed—a daily procedure that took hours. Every time the gauze was removed, more of Ouchi's remaining skin went with it. His eyelids could not shut, and his eyes bled. His nails fell off.

Ouchi's right arm was necrotizing, leading to an increasing amount of myoglobin—a protein in muscle tissue—flowing in Ouchi's blood. Untreated, this could result in renal failure as the kidneys could not process the amount of myoglobin present.

Ouchi's body could not regenerate the platelets that form scabs, meaning the risk of hemorrhage was extreme.

By day 50, more than two liters of fluid seeped from Ouchi's damaged skin each day. The amount of fluid prevented skin grafts from adhering. Furthermore, he began to suffer from blood in his stool, and permeated blood seeped between his inflamed small and large intestines.

2 Months+ Post-Exposure

On the 59th day after the accident, Ouchi suffered the first of many heart attacks. His kidneys and liver were also failing. He no longer showed reactions to stimuli.

By day 63, Ouchi's macrophages—the immune cells that normally attack and consume bacteria and viruses—were attacking his own healthy blood cells.

After 67 days, Ouchi suffered internal hemorrhage. He bled from his mouth and intestines.

Ouchi would continue to suffer from heart attacks, as many as three in one hour. Each time, he was revived, but he suffered increasing brain damage, until multiple organ failure ended his life after 83 days in the hospital.

Ouchi's colleague Masato Shinohara underwent numerous successful skin grafts and a stem cell transfusion as well as radical cancer treatment, but he, too, died of multiple organ failure after seven months. Their supervisor, Yutaka Yokokawa, was treated for minor radiation sickness and was released from the hospital within three months of the accident.

This detailed chronology was referenced from the book A Slow Death: 83 Days of Radiation Sickness by Iwanami Shoten, translated by Maho Harada. My post, of course, focuses on Ouchi's physical condition in his final months, but it’s important to remember him not just as a victim or a patient. He was a loving husband and father whose sense of humor and resilience left an impression on everyone he came into contact with. The book is available in its entirety here and provides a moving, nuanced account of the incident and the efforts to save Ouchi's life.

[disneyprincemuke]

forever wouldn't wait for us * fem!driver

logan's moving out

pairings: 4lyfers x fem!driver

notes: hi please give this attention im not even kidding how difficult it was to write this like i'm actually kinda sad

(series masterlist) | (📂 the sophomore year)

liam scowls, throwing his head back. he points his hand towards logan, sat on the couch, fiddling with a rubix cube he’d found underneath the couch. “you’re not even helping!”

“i didn’t know kidnapper took my rubix cube,” logan mutters.

the girl passes him, walking between the couch and the coffee table, snatching away the rubix cube from his hands. “you don’t even know how to play with a rubix cube,” she mutters, “and this is mine.”

logan huffs, rolling his eyes and throws his arms into the air. “you never let me have anything.”

she furrows her eyebrows. “you moved into my furnished apartment at the start of last year.”

“there’s gotta be something in the living room that’s mine,” logan frowns, looking around for something to take with him.

“what time are we drinking?” oscar throws his head back, looking over from the dining table. on the table is a set of uno cards messily strewn in different directions. on his right is lily and to his left is ylona with a small grin. “you guys are taking too long.”

“we wouldn’t be taking so long if everyone helped like they promised,” she huffs underneath her breath with a small eye roll. “anyway, logan’s still trying out being a thief right in front of my eyes.”

“babe,” ylona snorts, “don’t steal from rocky.”

mick walks out of logan’s room, a box of neatly folded clothes inside. he drops it right by the kitchen where the rest of logan’s boxes rest, stacked above one another. “logan loves stealing from rocky.”

“i do not!” logan defends himself. “wait, whatever. i’m just saying — there has to be something that’s mine in the living room. there’s no way that i was leeching off rocky the entire year and a half we stayed together.”

“you probably have more things in her parents’ home rather than here,” oscar points out, playing a card on the table. “hurry it up. i’m hungry and thirsty.”

she hadn’t expected logan to move out so soon. while she knew that living with logan for the rest of her life isn’t a viable arrangement, she hadn’t expected him to decide to pack up and live with his girlfriend while being together for less than a year.

he had told her about a month ago, at the start of september that he’d be moving in with ylona. not too far away, just an apartment down the road. but it still feels like a part’s of her being torn from her — the same way she felt when oscar had moved out of her parents’ when he landed a reserve driver spot with alpine.

she didn’t expect the 3 of them to live together for the rest of time, but it’s just weird to spend growing up every single day with them for years to end up barely talking sometimes outside of race weekends.

“rocky, what do you think?”

she maintains her blank stare on kidnapper, sleeping under the coffee table with a hum. “think of what?”

“let’s head out for dinner as a quick pick-me-up,” mick grins slightly, “and then we drop by the store to get drinks then we continue packing. when we’re done with that, we drink! how’s that sound?”

she lifts her head with a small grin. “yeah, absolutely.”

the uneasy feeling in her chest never leaves the entire evening. from the moment they’d all spilled out of the apartment to grab dinner, asking each other where they should eat to the moment they were stumbling back in to pack what’s left of logan’s clothes.

she sits in the living room now in silence, playing with kidnapper with one of the toys she’d gotten him in a dim corner. everyone else is in logan’s room, helping fold and pack what mick hadn’t gotten in boxes earlier.

“hey, are you okay? you’ve been here since we came home from dinner.” she glances over her shoulder, a small grin spreading her lips at the man now taking a seat next to her on the ground by the cat tree. “i’m surprised you haven’t started crying yet. remember when i moved out of your parents’?”

she throws her head back with a soft groan and an eye roll. “that seems like forever ago.”

“it was,” oscar laughs, leaning back against the wall as kidnapper curiously climbs on his lap. “how do you feel now that you’ll be living alone?”

“not sure,” she shrugs, dropping her head with a soft chuckle. “i like living with logan, you know? everyday was a party.”

“living by yourself can still be party, you know,” he points out and rests his head on the wall behind him. “you knew we weren’t going to be around forever.”

she presses her lips together as she tries to navigate the lines in her head and pinpoint why she’s always so upset when either of them move out. perhaps she feels left behind once more?

sure, that lingering feeling of jealousy arose occasionally when they were younger, always progressing with their racing careers without her at times. but there’s no reason to feel this way at 21 when they’re all at the same stages of life.

“i mean… before logan asked if he could move in with me, i was prepared to be live by myself. but you know,” she trails off as she lifts her head with trembling lips. “that was a year and a half ago.”

“aw, mate,” oscar coos, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on her knee. “i know he sprung this on you a little too soon. but you’ll be fine, you know?”

“i know,” she grins, craning her neck back to sigh at oscar. “i’m going to let him take stubby with him. i know the bond they’ve formed, you know? i’m going to miss that dog.”

“you know you don’t have to. you adopted stubby.”

“just seems cruel to keep stubby when he very clearly prefers logan over me.” she takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. “we should help them out so we can drink with them, right?”

oscar glances down at the black cat that’s settled in his lap. “i can’t get up — kidnapper’s on my lap. it’s your turn now.”

she rolls her eyes but still slowly gets up from her spot. “i will be back for my cat, oscar piastri.”

“i know it was sudden when i told you i was planning to move out,” logan mutters, lifting his head to look at the girl in the single seater couch across the room. “i’m sorry.”

the girl looks up from her phone, her screen illuminating her face with a small grin and flushed cheeks from the drinks they’d consumed. the empty glass bottles riddle the floor of their — no, her — living room. “we can’t be roommates forever. it’s okay.”

around them are liam and mick, passed out in their individual spots with pillows and blankets strewn over their bodies. oscar and lily are coddled up in her bed and logan’s got ylona’s head in his lap as she lies on the couch with stubby in her arms.

“i’m sorry i didn’t even ask you what you thought about it at first,” he admits. “you let me move into your apartment then i just spring my decision to move out 3 weeks ahead of time. i’m sorry, rocky.”

“it’s okay, really. like–”

“dude.” the firmness in her voice makes her drop her phone into her stomach. she sits upright with a small grin on her face and a heavy sigh. “i’m sorry. 2024 hasn’t been great for our friendship.”

she laughs softly, dropping her back against her seat. “are you talking about the crash? that was months ago, mate. i totally overreacted. so much for ‘whatever happens on the track, stays on the track’. i’m sorry.”

but meeting his eyes across the room, her smile fades when she notices that he’s not smiling or giggling along with her. “you know what i’m apologising for.”

tears flood her eyes and she forces herself to look away to wipe them away. “mate. it’s been 9 months.”

“stop brushing it off,” logan whispers, shaking his head. “i’m sorry, okay? you’re still my best friend — you know that, right? nothing’s changing. i’m just 2 blocks down the road; call me if you need me.”

she smiles, hanging her head as she turns to look at him. “likewise. take stubby with you, by the way. he seems to be very fond of you and ylona, anyway.”

“what? no, that’s crazy. stubby is your dog.”

she shakes her head and holds a hand up to stop him from talking. and she knows that he knows what that means — there’s nothing he can say to change her mind. “take him. he’ll be happier with you guys.”

logan’s stare lingers on her, smiling back before she picks up her phone from her stomach. “you should bring ylona to your bed. the couch is uncomfortable, mate.”

logan grins. “okay. do you want to share the bed with her? i know oscar and lily’s fallen asleep in yours. i can sleep out here if you want.”

she shakes her head, following his gaze as he carefully manoeuvres ylona to guide her back to his room. “i’ll be okay. you don’t have to look out for me so much anymore, mate. i’m a big girl.”

“everything’s in the car,” oscar calls out from down the hall, popping his head from the corner that leads to their life lobby. “need a minute?”

“i’ll be down in a second,” logan answers, looking over his shoulder as oscar nods firmly and disappears into the corner. he lets out a shaky breath before he turns back to the small girl standing by the door, handle in her hands as she leans against the door frame. “i’m going to miss living with you.”

she smiles, another tear falling right out of her eye. “i’m going to miss you too. it’s okay that we’re like this, right? we’ve lived together for almost a decade — it’s weird not waking up to your breakfast.”

“don’t skip breakfast, okay?” he presses his lips together. “take care of yourself, dude.”

she laughs her sob out, more tears starting to roll down her cheeks. she sighs, palms over her face as she shies her emotions away. “this is so stupid. i’m literally coming over to help you move in in an hour. i just need to take a shower and feed kidnapper some breakfast.”

logan snorts, throwing his head back, tears slowly leaving his eyes. “10 years is a long time to be living together. we’re still best friends even if we’re not living together. we’ve made it work with oscar, haven’t we?”

“obviously,” she mutters. “i’ll see you later, okay?”

“okay,” logan grins. he leans down, wrapping both arms around her smaller frame and tightens his grip. “i’m sorry again for how things turned out. you’ll always be my best friend, you know that, right?”

she stumbles into him, tiptoeing as she tries to keep her feet on the ground as he squeezes her and lifts her off the ground slightly. “i know. you’ll always be my bestest friend in the entire world, lo. forever wasn’t going to wait for us.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-pie-girl @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 2 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 3

During the school day, she'd ignore you as usual. Wandering the halls of Northshore, you'd catch glimpses of her but no more than that. It actually felt like you were seeing less of her than usual. It was hard to avoid somebody in a school like Northshore, but somehow she managed it. You doubted it had anything to do with you specifically. She'd been acting off since you'd had dinner at the Georges'.

After school, those days you went to Regina's house to do their yard work, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Gretchen and Karen weren't around. Regina had taken her mom's place on the patio and bathed in the sun as you worked.

You hated to say it was distracting. Partly because the whole thing had thrown you off kilter, like why was she doing all this all of a sudden, and also because she was hot. There was no question about it. Regina George was hot.

You desperately tried maintaining focus on the chlorine you were pouring into the pool, pretending you weren't all too aware of Regina lying not too far away from you, in a skimpy hot pink bikini, large sunglasses covering her eyes.

"Regina! Oh, that's such a cute 'suit you got, where'd you get it?" You were distantly aware of Mrs George stepping through the sliding door to the backyard. Regina muttered something in return. You didn't have to look to see Mrs George wilt at her daughter's dismissal.

It pissed you off. Regina didn't have to entertain her mom's every whim, she could be a bit much, even you could admit that, but she didn't have to be so mean.

You walked over to them with the empty chlorine bag in hand. "Hey, Mrs George." You called as you approached. "Margaritas?"

"Hi, sweetie! I brought you two some, gotta stay hydrated in this hot weather. All virgin, of course!" Mrs George winked and offered up the tray she had in her hands. You smiled gratefully and took one of the glasses. You were actually quite thirsty and Regina's mom made the best (alcohol-free) cocktails.

"Thanks," You said before taking a sip. Mm, strawberry and basil. Yummy.

"Just leave it there, mom. She's gotta work and I'm busy." Regina pointed at the little table next to the sunbeds before directing her attention back to, uh, lying in the sun. She sure looked busy.

"Okay, honey." Mrs George smiled, but the chirp in her voice was strained. "You just call and I'll be right here, alright?" She looked from her daughter to you.

"You got it, Mrs George."

Once the older woman had ducked out of the door and closed it behind her, you turned to Regina.

"You don't need to be mean, y'know." You took a sip, watching the pink slush move through the swirly straw.

"Excuse me?" Regina craned her neck in your direction, looking very uncomfortable. You walked around to the sunbed next to hers and sat down facing her.

"She just brought us margaritas." You said, continuing to sip on your drink.

"Uh, yeah, and I'm busy." She huffed before reaching for her own drink. "Why she feels the need to bother me is beyond me."

"She's your mom and wanted to do something nice." You rolled your eyes, already sick of her attitude.

Regina didn't bother responding. You adjusted on the seat so you were sitting on it the right way, legs kicked up and leaned back. You decided to relax for a few minutes. It was still the beginning of the school year, September barely just started, so summer was still lingering warm in the air.

There was a robin's nest in one of the apple trees. Red-chested birds flew around, from their home branch to the bird pool, to somewhere you couldn't see and back. Soon it'd be apple picking season. For the last two years of high school Mrs George had given you maybe more than half the apples since she didn't know what to do with so much. Before that, it used to be you and Regina. Picking apples, sitting on the branches, peeling each and every one and boiling them into jam with obscene amounts of sugar. Looking back, you were pretty sure doing all those things without proper adult supervision was like tempting a tragic accident.

(To be fair, you had fallen out of those apple trees once before. You were maybe twelve and it was the middle of summer. You'd lost your balance and toppled onto your wrist. Regina had nearly fallen herself scrambling down to get you. She'd cried more than you and you were the one with a broken bone. She insisted you pick a pink cast. She was the first to sign it, too.)

Out in the sun, it was much hotter than under the partial shade in the yard. You chugged the rest of your drink before standing back up. You pulled off your shirt as you walked to the patio stairs, leaving on just a sports bra and your shorts.

"Jean shorts are so lame," Regina said behind you. You turned to look at her and found her looking at you from over her sunglasses. Her eyes raked over your body, no doubt judging how much weight you'd gained since she last saw you without clothes.

Fuck. Not like that. That sounded wrong. You had spent a lot of time at her pool, both of you in swimsuits, as kids. A totally normal, non-sexual setting.

You shrugged, pretending her wandering eye did not make you insecure. "I like my jorts."

"Your taste is questionable." Regina scoffed, a little smile playing on her lips. "At best." She added sassily. You had a feeling she was mocking you.

"Thanks!" You struck a little pose, cocking your hip and blowing a kiss her way, responding in an equally snarky manner. You knew you didn't stand up to her fashion standards. Loose jean shorts down to a little above your knees, basic brown slides, and now sans a raggedy, well-loved Queen tee was not exactly high couture.

"You're not cute, jorts." She leaned up on her elbows and pushed the shades up to her hair. "I think I saw this exact outfit on you, like, three years ago." She pretended to think, finger on her chin. "So, when we were thirteen..."

"Yeah, you probably did." You chuckled. "You also called me jorts three years ago. So, clearly, nothing's changed, right?"

You both damn well knew a lot had changed. Still, she entertained you with a seemingly genuine smile. You smiled back before turning away to retrieve some tools from the shed. There was a gap in the fence that needed fixing.

Then, for the following week and then some, as if the past years of her ignoring you hadn't happened at all, she started speaking to you. Not at school, though, never in public. Only Kylie and Mrs George were privy to your rekindled friendship. You weren't sure if you could even call it that. Was it friendship if it was conditional to time and place?

You couldn't find it in yourself to care too much, though. You had your own crowd at school. You had things other than the Georges' yard work to do. Sometimes you went skating with the guys, picked up shifts at the shop, did chores and yard work at home, played video games, and on rare occasions studied. You had a life outside of Regina George.

So what if when you fucked up a trick and looked around all frantic, checking that Regina hadn't suddenly spawned at the skate park and seen your epic fall. So what if you spent your work hours thinking about her, counting down the minutes until you got to clean the Georges' pool again. So fucking what you wanted to beat the shit out of Regina in Mortal Kombat.

Maybe you did care. You wanted to spend more time with her. Was that a crime? If you could talk during the several hours of the day, five days a week, that the two of you went to the same school, then that want would've abated. But you had to wait. Sometimes there were several days in a row that you barely got a glimpse of her.

You sounded pathetic. Gosh. You hadn't realized how much you missed her until you got a taste of what it was like to have her back. You couldn't even remember what had caused her sudden avoidance back then. Something with Janice and a sleepover. The details had gone blurry since then. You hadn't even been at the sleepover, but you'd heard something bad had gone down. Something that caused Janis 'Imi'ike to switch schools for the remainder of middle school.

Sighing, you let your pencil fall from your hand. You fucking hated algebra. Functional math, business math, that you could deal with, but derivatives and parables and all that stuff? No. Just no.

You rolled your chair back from your desk and decided it was high time for some relaxation. You walked across the hallway to the computer room, planning on fucking around on RuneScape.

Before you could get into gaming, though, you checked AIM and noticed you had a message. From Regina. What? You click the chat open and see that it's been sent a pretty long while ago.

> can i come over? daddys home

You stared at the uncharacteristic message. You two never spent time at your house back then. It was always empty and you didn't have the same fun things Regina did. Mrs George had been a significantly better cook, to add. Your toaster oven tater tots and dino nuggies couldn't compare.

But, hey, maybe this was the start of something new.

> sure > when? whenevr is fine w me

That could've all been one message but, well, here you were. You jumped in your seat when she responded almost immediately.

> omw

Shit. You shot up from the desk chair, sending it rolling to the other side of the room. You shut down the behemoth of a machine as fast as you could, which wasn't very fast, and shot down the stairs. The living room was a mess 'cause you'd spent the last few days pigging out in front of the TV, playing videogames and eating exclusively takeout.

You spent some time in the pantry trying to look for a garbage bag, time was running out, before rushing to the crime scene that was the couch. Styrofoam containers, probably some cutlery, empty bags of Cheetos and whatnot, empty cans, all that flew into the bag. You wouldn't have time to vacuum, so you just brushed the crumbs away into the couch cushions or onto the floor.

You were almost done when the doorbell rang. You had collected all the trash, but you still had to put away some of the still good leftovers. Didn't wanna waste those since you could eat it later.

"Hi!" You exclaimed, a little too riled up to seem sensible at the door. "I was just cleaning up."

"I see that." Regina drawled, eyeing the garbage bag as well as you. You'd completely forgotten about how you looked.

"Shit, sorry," You looked down at your body and the unfortunate clothes draped over it. Blue briefs with little Spidermen printed on them and a ratty grey hoodie with a devastating stain right on your chest. Your hair probably looked just as bad. You hadn't been bothered to fix up your bedhead, it was a goddamn Sunday.

"Don't worry about me." Regina, with her hands at her hips, looked at you expectantly. "So..."

"Yeah, uh, just stay here," You turned and put your sandals on. "I'll put this to the trash and, I still gotta put some things away and then you can come inside."

Regina just stared at you. You pursed your lips together and hustled past her, down the porch steps and toward the trash cans. By the time you'd hauled the bag away, you could no longer see Regina on the porch.

"Regina! I said don't go in!" You ran after her.

"Don't be ridiculous, jorts, I'm not afraid of a mess. Gosh." You could hear her from inside, probably taking her shoes off. That'd been a thing at your house always, but you didn't expect her to remember.

"Fucking- fine, okay, just..." You huffed as you spied her saunter into your living room as if she owned the place. She slumped down onto the couch, the very same you'd slept on the previous night.

You collected the food from the coffee table and moved it to the kitchen. You gave tentative sniffs to glean if they'd gone bad already. They'd only been out in the open for like, less than a day. So it was probably fine.

"When'd you order that?" Regina's voice came from behind you unexpectedly. You turned to her, caught with your nose in some noodles.

"Uh, last night..." You wiped at your nose with your sleeve.

She walked up to the container, right up in your space, and also gave it a sniff. Then she shrugged.

"I was thinking the same," You poured the noodles into Tupperware and shoved it into the fridge.

"Why's your fridge so empty? Has your dad gone bankrupt?" Regina stepped in before you could fully close the door.

"No, Reggie, he's fine. I don't have the money to stock up like your mom."

Regina turned to look at you, a displeased pout on her lips. She'd always hated it when you called her that. "I fucking hate that stupid nickname. And what do you mean you don't have the money?"

"I mean I don't have the money?" You paused in pouring beef and broccoli into another container, turning to look at her.

"Doesn't he send you money or make someone do it for you when he's away?"

You smiled a little bitterly. "He hasn't done that since I was, like, twelve." You paused. "Well, he's always sent me money but he used to have my babysitter buy groceries when I was way young."

Regina's lips twisted like she was genuinely thinking. You continued, feeling weird now that such a weirdly vulnerable conversation had been opened: "He sends me an allowance every week for groceries and school lunch, but it's not that much. If I didn't work at yours or at the shop I'd be toast." You grinned as you put on the last lid, moving to put the last two containers into the fridge too.

Regina didn't look all that amused. She was still frowning at your fridge, the rather pathetic state of it. You could admit it was pretty bleak. Two-litre bottles of various sodas, microwave meals, and an astonishing amount of condiments were not a sight that sparked hope.

"That's weird," Regina commented. "It's like you're poor but with a nice house."

"Gee, thanks so much, Reg, that makes me feel so good and seen." You drolled. "Oh, you think I have a nice house? That's nice."

"It's alright, I guess. Mine's better." Back to her usual, unthinking and overall not-that-nice persona. This was familiar territory.

"I would know. I work there." You motioned for her to follow you to the couch. "I'm gonna pick your apples soon."

"Daddy's home now. I don't know if you can." Regina sat with her shins tucked under her, leaning her side against the back of the couch. You sat a comfortable distance away, facing her with your legs crossed.

"What did your dad do again?" You asked, trying to remember.

"I don't fucking know." She gestured with her hand. "Human trafficking?"

"I hear it's a lucrative business." You grinned, enjoying talking like this with your old friend.

"We should start a company. Who'd you think would have a good price at our school?" She looked so excited at the prospect of talking shit about your peers. It was a little adorable, but in the way that a man-eating beast was. Like a devil cougar or something like that.

"I think that's eugenics, Reg." You muttered, jokingly wincing. "That's problematic."

"What, are you gonna sue me?" She leaned forward, inclining her head cheekily. "With what money?"

"With daddy's money, you fuck!" You laughed. "What money are you gonna sue me with? Wait, let me guess, uhh... Daddy's money."

"I'll have you know, it might be mommy's money." She widened her eyes dramatically as she began to tell the story. "I did some snooping around, and it just so happens daddy might not be the breadwinner after all, because-"

As Regina got into telling you about Mrs George's strange investments, which she and Kylie both had been pretty sure were pyramid schemes, you listened keenly and watched as she spun the story. She'd always been a good storyteller, good with performing and making the room pay attention to her. It was a shame she'd started to use her powers for evil.

Sitting here, Regina George on your dirty couch in her designer clothes and all, listening as she told you about the most mundane things in her life, made you feel warm in a way you hadn't in a long time. Loneliness was a quiet thing. It snuck up on you and you hadn't even noticed.

You hoped she wouldn't duck out of your life again.

Notes: Written late at night. My eyes don't work like they used to before. Might've missed some spelling errors or weird grammar. I'll return to it after I've slept. Also, in case you haven't noticed, this is firmly set in 2004. This story takes elements from both films, 2004 and 2024, but time-wise it is 2004. Another thing, I changed up the chapter titles. Originally, the first part was the prologue but then I thought about it and it really isn't like a prologue. So, that was chapter 1 and this is chapter 2. Bye-bye, party people.

Taglist: One person asked for this lmao, but I am but a servant of the people. Comment on this post if you wanna be tagged on the next part when it comes out. Disclaimer! Chapters will not usually come out this fast.

@autorasexy

[jen-with-a-pen]

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 1/2

summary: Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 1.3k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blood mention, knife mention, beer mention, Wade's fuckin horny and thirsty y'all, pining, cursing, claws, Wade is looking ✨respectively✨, crude humor and language, slight Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, no smut (yet, sorry)

a/n: AUGH DONT LOOK AT ME (actually please do I cannot hold this in any longer.) currently part one of two parts. posting the first one now as I am currently traveling for work and won't be back until beginning of September and then part two will be out when i either A. Get home or B. Finish it and format it in between running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Please be patient with me! I will not tolerate "whEreS PaRt Two?¿??" when I literally just told you. Hope y'all enjoy one of the many products of my brain rot. More to come in due time ✨

Not beta'd. Written on my phone and edited via gdocs. Post formatted on mobile because I don't wanna use my work computer lmao

Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

The abs are great. More than great, actually. In fact, they're all Wade thinks, dreams, and fantasizes about. All day, everyday, non-fucking-stop. The moment replays over and over in his fucked up noodle brain like a scratched record. He knows muscle memory is a thing, but what about salivatory memory?

Christ. He's gotta get a grip instead of getting hard.

But what about when Logan isn't flexing hard enough to rip his goddamn suit off?

Wade notices Logan becoming more relaxed around the apartment as the days pass. Adjusting to his new life, coming out of the bedroom earlier than he has to on days when he gets a turn to sleep on a real bed. It's Sofa City most of the time– which he really doesn't mind, he almost prefers it most of the time (since it's in clear sight of the front door) but Wade more often than not likes to insist they share his 'much-too-big-for-lil-old-me' twin XL mattress that's seen more stains than sex in the last year alone.

Logan's compromise is he'll take the bed and Wade the couch half the time. Alone. They're still working on the negotiations of said compromise, but the jury– Blind Al– is still out on recess.

Once he's more settled in, Logan learns that it's okay to kick off his boots and put his feet up. It's not often, but enough that Wade silently wishes he'd rest those big meaty calves on his lap instead. He's been needing a new weighted blanket and Adamantium-coated tibias and hairy legs are so in right now.

Logan doesn't know it, but Wade secretly plays 'ohmygodhetotallylookedatme' whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of Wade oggling at him in his peripherals. Wade can't help it when Broody and the Beast's ribbed white muscle shirt pulls taut against those deliciously plump pecs that he silently prays it'll burst off again. Or he'll rip it off. Or Logan will rip it off. For him.

A boy can dream.

It's especially hard to win at 'OMGHTLAM' when Logan accessorizes– AKA throwing on whatever flannel is in rotation out of the several he finds at the thrift store a few blocks over. Wade feels his throat tighten like his jeans do when Logan wears the forest green one. Really brings out his eyes.

And smile. And lips. And–

It's still summer, so on the hotter days, when sweat glistens on his brow and Wade desperately wishes to be the back of Logan's hand, the tank top comes off. All Logan's sweaty, gloriously muscular body has on is a wonderfully worn-in pair of jeans with the hem of black briefs poking out behind the denim waist.

Do they have AC? Yes. Because Wade would have to plan a funeral for Al if they didn't.

But when she's out and about, he likes to turn it off and let the New York heat wave run its course. Sure, it leaves him sticky and gross, but he'd rather be sticky and gross and hard when he can help it.

Luckily, Blind Al is gone for the whole weekend. Some girls trip or a drug mule job. Same difference.

Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

With the push of a button and a sprinkle of patience, Logan is splayed out on the couch in a matter of hours with a lukewarm beer in hand while fighting his eyelids from dozing off to some random war documentary. Sweat beads on his temples and there's a slight sheen to his skin from his biceps to the lower V pointing down to between his thighs. He chuckles every so often, mumbling things to himself between swigs of beer and shaking his head when the narrator gets something 'wrong.'

Wade busies himself in the kitchen but his eyes are permanently glued to his roommate. He doesn’t miss the way Logan's stomach rises and falls gently, the rock-hard six pack softening into rolling hills of muscle with a layer of dark hair covering as much surface area as immortal-like hormones will allow. Grown out beard, chops, and messy hair really throw the whole look together; very 2000s, if you ask Wade. His pecs look just as soft as a pair of titties, if not softer, and Wade knows it. He'd do anything to lay his perfect little head on Logan's chest. Maybe lick it too, if he's a good boy. 

Logan perks up suddenly from the couch.

Oh God did he say that out loud?

"Wade?"

Wade doesn't hear him. Can't hear him. Half-refuses to hear him, honestly. Daydreaming takes up a whole lotta brain power and this show isn't running itself. Economy, budget cuts, unprecedented times. You know the shtick. 

"Wade."

Nothing but a bead of drool comes out of Wade's mouth. 

Suddenly, there's a crash right behind Wade's head and now he's awake. He whips around to the ale-spattered wall behind him and back to Logan, who's now standing with claws drawn and chest heaving.

Wade swears he's blushing. 

Eyes wide and brow standing up straight like his good little soldier, Wade looks down at the counter before him to find a bloodbath of a scene: one hand's on a knife while the other spews blood all over the yellowed counter tops; there's remnants of a carrot that was finished five minutes ago, followed directly by remnants of fingers cut down to the last fucking knuckle and slice marks beginning down the back of his hand.

Wade holds up his spurting stump, gashed artery doing a spot-on impression of Ol' fucking Faithful.

"Oh. Huh. Thought I smelled something," he says, staring at his now-tingling hand. Baby fingers for the rest of the night were so worth the staring contest with Logan's beautiful body.

"Fuckin' idiot," Logan mutters, sheathing his claws and striding over to the hall closet to grab a towel. Wade's already stopped bleeding, but just because they might be immune to bloodborne pathogens doesn't mean Al is.

"Gah– get back, damn mutt." Logan shoos Dogpool out of the kitchen to prevent her from lapping up her papa's bodily fluids. He throws the towel in Wade's face and goes to grab the bleach out of the cupboard under the sink. Logan learned very quickly where to find it the first time this happened a month or two ago.

"Sorry baby, Mommy's got a boo-boo and Daddy's just trying to help," Wade coos at Dogpool. "You're too good to me, peanut. Someone oughta wife ya up before I do."

Logan responds with a scowl as he tosses the carrots out and tries to keep the counter from staining. "Why th'fuck did you do that?"

"It was time for a new hand. Old one was so last season."

Wade mops up the blood from his arm and wraps the towel onto his head like he's just gotten out of the shower. Holding up his regenerating stump, he poses like a cover model for Vogue.

"Whatcha think, peanut?" He strikes another pose. "Is this doing anything for ya, big boy?"

Logan grunts as he tosses a wad of paper towels into the trash can. He turns to leave the kitchen, eyes flicking to Wade. It's the quickest once over ever, but Wade sees it. Commits it to memory while he pulls a Flashdance in a chair from the kitchen table and follows Logan's denim-clad ass as it sways off to the bathroom. 

"'M gonna go shower. Don't wait up,” Logan calls before shutting the door and locking it. 

Sighing, Wade looks down at his crotch, pants tent pitched higher and tighter than a first-timer on Everest.

Good thing he's ambidextrous.

[hisunshiine]

—in good hands | jjk [M]

💻 pairing: streamer!jungkook x female!reader 🫶🏻 au/genre: camboy au, smut 💻 rating: M 🫰🏻 wc: 1,500 💻 warnings: second hand embarrassment from your friend exposing your thirst for JK; explicit sexual content: masturbation, voyeurism, cum eating, fingering. 🫶🏻 summary: camboy!Tae helps convince his streaming/gaming friend Jungkook to try it out, especially when a mutual friend’s input (yours) sweetens the deal, and you’re more than ready to get your hands dirty helping him. 💻 an: thank you to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for beta reading when i needed a…hand. Hehehe.  💻 an 2: part of the @bangtanwritershq September 2023 “Big Boys” flash fiction writing event. request received from @colormepurplex2

“Stop staring, babe.”

Jungkook adjusts the volume on his gaming headset, unsure about what Taehyung could be talking about, but the attitude in his voice is apparent. 

“Everything cool, Tae?”

“Yeah…”

He falls silent and Jungkook uses the grappling hook to bring Widowmaker above enemy lines before using Infrasight to show his teammates the enemies positions on the map. Climbing a bit higher, he takes a few opponents out with her assault rifle, and D.Va appears to his left on screen, using her fusion cannons to take out the rest. 

“Fuck yeah! Good game,” Jungkook praises, but Taehyung remains quiet. Jungkook turns off the livestream he set up for the game and tries to check in once more with his friend.

“Tae?”

“Yeah, sorry, I muted, but uh, Hana wants to tell you something.”

Jungkook can hear as Hana takes the headset from his friend, and her light vocals replace her boyfriend's much deeper ones.

“Hey Kookie, have you ever thought about camming like Tae does? I mean, I’m skimming a few comments from the stream and you have more than a few viewers talking about your hands.”

Jungkook feels his cheeks grow warm at what Hana is implying. He knows about the thirsty viewers, the requests he gets to put his hands to better use. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it—the pay alone could be quite good—he’s just a little shy.

“I’m not saying you have to, I just have a friend…you’ve met her a few times! Tae said you thought she was cute—ow! Anyway, she thinks you’re hot and enjoys watching you guys play and well…she’s interested in watching a different type of content if you ever decide on it. Okay, here’s Tae-Tae.”

Hana disappears as if she didn’t just insinuate that Jungkook should stream himself fucking his fist on camera because her friend thinks he’s hot. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. They're a match made in heaven if he’s ever seen one. Taehyung and Hana met when she won a contest through his livestreams, and they’ve been dating for a while. Jungkook bounces the idea around in his head as Taehyung takes back his headset.

Hana’s friend is pretty cute, not that Jungkook’s ever said that to her. It’s nice knowing that she’s attracted to him, because the few times they’ve hung out as a group he felt like they seemed to hit it off. Maybe…

“Hey, Tae, what platform do you use to cam, again?” 

You can’t believe Hana, your so-called-best-friend, told Jungkook that you watch when he and Taehyung stream themselves gaming because you think he’s hot. Or that she let slip your little fantasy about watching him stream—playing with something else. You can’t be too mad at her though, because Jungkook messaged you on discord for your number the next day. 

He’s shamelessly flirting, masking it by asking you to help him with his first ever non-gaming stream, and after texting for a few days, he asks if you can help him decide on some of the finer details—in person—as moral support before he goes live and to help him make sure to give his audience what they’re looking for. 

Of course you agree, because spending time with Jungkook, helping him get into the mindset for the camming he is about to do sounds like exactly how you want to spend your Friday night.

Jungkook’s hands are sweating just a bit as he positions the camera in place. He’s waiting for you to show up at the agreed upon time, and though you aren’t late, he kind of wishes you would be super early, so he would stop overthinking. 

When you finally knock on his apartment door, ten minutes early because you were overly excited and couldn’t linger anymore downstairs without feeling like a creep, you don’t expect to be met by him shirtless and in sweatpants. He looks a little frazzled, like he’s run his fingers through his hair too much, but it looks sexy paired with his rippling abs as he greets you. 

“You look pretty,” he says, complimenting your choice of sundress as summer comes to an end. “I don’t know what to wear…I have these sweats, but I also have another pair of pants…make yourself comfy, I’m gonna try those on for you to see.” Jungkook had led you into his bedroom as he spoke, and he motions to his bed next to it, disappearing into his closet.

You glance around his room, taking in the set up he has for streaming and try to focus on how you can enhance the set for this type of streaming. You make a few changes to the orientation of the lights until you hear his soft footsteps pad back into the room. Turning, the sight in front of you is so heavenly, it’s sinful. It takes you a few moments to speak.

“Definitely wear the leather.” You wipe at your mouth in case some drool leaked from the corner. The white tee and the leather pants he’s squeezed his fit thighs into have you clenching your legs together—you aren’t sure if Jungkook notices or not, but you take a deep breath so you can get yourself together.

You reach for your purse. “Okay, I think you’re ready. You got this.”

“Um…can you stay while I go live?”

Jungkook’s fingers nimbly undo the single button on the black leather pants he’s wearing, making sure to peel back each side of the opening as he slowly reveals the divots in his hips, and the top of his hardening cock. He keeps sliding until the tops of his thighs appear and his cock springs free, bouncing slowly from the weight of his arousal. 

You watch from your own phone seated on the edge of his bed, enthralled by his movements. The view is so much better than what you had hoped for, mostly because you were able to curate your wildest fantasy.

He reaches off camera for the bottle of lube, a self-heating KY Jelly that squelches lewdly into his hand before he sets it back down. The camera is angled so close that just his tattooed hand and cock can be seen, but you look away from your phone where you’re viewing the content for perfect placement when you feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. 

Your phone falls to your lap, eyes entranced by his gaze on yours as his right hand begins a slow, wet glide down over the tip and along his shaft. When the edge of his pinky finger and palm reaches the base, he pauses briefly to give himself a tight, teasing squeeze, and lets out an orgasmic groan that taunts your throbbing clit. 

Fuck. You want to take over for him—want to deepthroat him until he’s whining and then climb on top and ride him until he’s breeding you like the little cumslut you are. But for now, you watch from the best seat in the house as he pleasures himself. 

His eyes are low, full of desire as he watches you, hoping you will return the favor and touch yourself, too. With each glide his grip makes, you feel your legs inching apart—if you were home, it wouldn’t even be a question of whether you would be joining in or not.

“I hope you’re touching yourself, too,” Jungkook’s voice is deeper than usual, breathy. He continues talking to his viewers as the numbers climb, but his eyes are on you. “In fact, I want you to. Want you spreading those pretty thighs apart for me, just like that.”

You follow his directives, unable to disobey. 

“Don’t be shy, let me see.”

Quietly, you shimmy your panties down, glad you wore a dress that so easily allows him a view of your dripping pussy.

“Touch yourself how you want me to touch you, baby. Good girl.” Jungkook bites his lip, just for your viewing pleasure, as your fingers slip and slide through your lips, teasing your clit and taunting your opening. “Wait till I get my hands on you, I’ll make you feel so good.”

Your eyes follow the pattern he makes as he speeds up, tattooed fingers gripping himself tightly as he pulls his shirt up to reveal his abs, flexing as the pleasure builds.

A gasp from your lips sends him over the edge, opaque cum oozing over the ridge of his fingers as he fucks his fist through the high. You watch with eyes hooded as his tattoos become less visible, two fingers rubbing your clit furiously so you can follow him. You vaguely hear him say something else before he’s out of his chair, hands replacing yours as his body cages you onto his bed.

You wrap your fingers around his cum covered ones, sucking them clean before he dips them inside of you. You let out a whine as his fingers reach deeper than yours did, hips rocking for more friction.

“You’re in good hands, now, baby.”

Thank you for readinggg!!!! Hope you liked this! Read camboy!Tae's 3-part mini series here!

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[mistress-violence]

Prompt: Fashion from @into-the-jeggyverse (September 1)

Word count: 342 words

Pairing: Jegulus (modern AU)

⚠️ Warnings: NSFW (not explicit)

James had never been interested in the world of fashion. What he really liked was beauty. As a photographer, he enjoyed expensive champagne, sex and more money than he would need in a lifetime, and he offered magic in return. He could make any rag worthy of the cover of "Vogue" magazine. James lived by his own motto: "You must always know from which angle to look".

He had not expected to meet someone so gorgeous from every point of view. Regulus was the most wanted model in all of Paris and all the fashion houses wanted him as if he was a god. But James' work was the one that made him immortal. They were such a good pair that the magazines threw exorbitant sums to have them together. Regulus simply knew what position James wanted, and James always knew the moment when Regulus' glow appeared perfectly on camera.

Everyone was asking how they manage to work so well together, but the two always refused to answer. It was their secret, the reason why they were invincible: desire. They want each other so much that they go beyond the lens of a camera and beyond the pages of a magazine. Regulus moves like a panther and offers himself on the tray like a sacrificial animal, to be consumed and devoured by James. In return, James undresses Regulus with his eyes, makes him squirm and want more without even laying a finger on him. It doesn't matter what Regulus wears, James' favorite outfit is always just a dash of Chanel perfume.

Late at night, after all the lights go out and the champagne stops flowing, then James and Regulus experience the sweet euphoria of their naked bodies. It's the moment when all their desire flows like honey over thirsty lips. Then Regulus can shout and James can touch. It's their little secret, hidden from the eyes of a plastic world. The two adore every moment of the night, when the stars come together and fall, only to rise again the next day.

[briwates]

I've got a crack fic wip in my google drive since like september (it's 90% done, I just need a scene to connect the middle to the ending). The idea is Gaon scrolling online forums and basically stumbling upon people's extremely thirsty comments about Yohan ("i need our national chief judge carnally" kind of comments). Then he finds explicit omegaverse fanfic of him and his boss. Reads through it all, half horrified and half intrigued. The next day he goes to work and has to face Yohan while pretending he did not read all that. Of course Jinjoo is aware because she has searched their names on the internet before (who wouldn't when theyre basically public figures), she just ignores it/giggles about it in front of a flabbergasted Gaon. I'm trying to think of how to include Sunah in that cuz duh. It's a crackfic abt kyh thirst tweets.

[dirtybg3confessions]

Meet the Mods

Hi everyone! I'm mod tri- y'all may know me from this, or from decreeing November 5th Karlach Appreciation Day. I've been a mod here since late September, and when I'm not watering the thirsty community I'm probably writing, gaming (duh), or spending time with the mini zoo within my home. My BG3 bias is primarily Shadowheart, but there's something about the way the sad, angry, feral wet cat man looks at me that also makes me a little stupid. The problematic fave? Orin, hands down. Happy to continue serving the horny community 🫡

[bayoubodycount]

Hi friend!😁💖

Promise I'm getting to your ask post haste,thank you so much btw!!! Anyhow,in the meanwhile please let me repay the favor because it sounds awesome!!!

For the WIP Ask Game:

"Rest & Equilibrium" please?

Have a wonderful day/night!!!💖🦐

Hiya!👋

Rest & Equilibrium will be a spicy one-shot, porn with a HEAP of feels, I hope, because my demi butt just luvs love🤷‍♀️While Loustat is my favorite IWTV ship, I love everyone in this bar and a close second ship for me is Devil's Minion😈

Rest & Equilibrium summary:

After all the truths have been revealed, and their relationship mended, Daniel decides to sever another tie with humanity. All that's left is to go home to Armand and celebrate the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another.

This is a song fic because I ADORE the idea of Daniel finally letting go of such hang ups like his physical human age vs Armand's and also him settling his human affairs to more freely embark on his new immortal ones. It's inspired by "Lay Low" by Josh Turner and is basically Danmand celebrating the beginning of a new chapter for them offically *together.*

SNEAK PEEK:

Daniel smells the body wash Armand uses on his crisp, clean naked skin. It mixes with the exotic scent that is wholly Armand and Daniel's body feels as if it's responding on a molecular level.

“You haven't fed enough today, jaan.”

“Was trying to amend that,” Daniel manages to breath out, passing the other glass of AB negative to Armand who tosses it back like a shot of Red Label. ”We run out of towels?”

Armand sets his glass down and replies, “You're thirsty and hungry. I'm wet. Shall we remedy the situation?”

Daniel has to admire Armand's commitment to making him weak in the knees, especially since he's not even standing. “Uh,” he squeaks and immediately clears his throat, “yeah.”

**I'm hoping to have the ficlet complete by mid to late September(I'm focusing on one fic at a time right now, but already have half of this one written!)😉thanks for the ask @greenfinchwriter!

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Hello! Anon Who sent the spicy Alpha Canada ask! I'm so happy you loved it and I absolutely adore the spicy scene you wrote for Matthew and his Omega darling. I am wondering if you'd consider making a prequel to that ask that takes place when Alpha America captures Matthew's darling and when he gives her to Matthew as a "gift". I love your writing and your Omegaverse world and I'm curious to see what you come up with. Thank you again and have a great day! ~Anon who's WAY too thirsty for APH Canada

OH BOY I FINALLY HAVE AN ANSWER FOR THAT. I hope you enjoy it’s kinda violent and has some lore and world building in it.

link to da spicy Canada x Omega reader here and if you’re curious to know about how (R2C) works in this universe

Request to capture: For (First Name) (Last Name)               Date: September 20th, 20XX

Style : Battle Arena 

Your breathing had slowed steadily again, even though your hands continued to tremble greatly. While you held onto the paper that spelled out your damnation. An R2C was slipped under your door this morning. You only had a few minutes left before the clock struck 15:00. That’s when the beginning of your demise would begin. 

14:45 is what your digital clock in your bedroom had read. 

“No. No. No. No. No. I only have 15 minutes left of freedom?” You paced your room back and forth. Wishing for an easy solution to get out of this but none would appear. You knew that. That is why you absent-mindedly put on your sturdy hiking boots, thickest jeans, & oversized sweatshirt that was dark. Maybe it could help you blend into the environment and assist you in escaping. 

There was a slim chance, but you would try anyway as you finished tying up your heavy boot strings. Your mind wandered to the butterfly knife you could hide beneath your clothes. You grabbed it quickly, and as you did so, your fluffy white cat ears perked up at the sound of multiple Peacekeepers' hefty boots marching up to your apartment doorway. 

They didn’t bother to knock. Your door was flattened down with a battering ram. It came down with a thunderous thud. 

“Shit!” You quickly hide yourself beneath your desk. You prayed that you would somehow blend and vanish within the wall. 

No such luck existed for you. 

“(FIRST NAME! LAST NAME!) YOU’VE BEEN SUMMONED TO THE ARENA UNDER R2C! YOU CAN NOT DENY THIS ORDER!” A seasoned Alpha Peacekeeper barked out. The sound of his commanding voice made your ears lower, and your fluffy tail move further beneath you. You buried your face between your knees. 

They soon came to kick your bedroom door down. You jumped at the sudden sound of them entering. Of course, they found you quickly cowering under your desk. You flailed around and begged not to be taken. 

“No! No! Please! I have a life I want to live! I don’t want to go!” You tried to kick one of the peacekeepers in the face. It almost landed until he caught your leg & stabbed it with a tranquilizer. It only took seconds for you to become numb & fade into the abyss of the dark. 

To your sealed fate, you go. 

By the time you’d awoken from your drug-induced nap, you were in a holding cell with an Alpha who’d been assigned to keep an eye on you until the start of the game. Her scowl was ever-present & framed by her wavy, bright red hair. Her brown orbs were soft like those of concerned moms. 

“Are you alright & fully awake?” She gently placed her hand on your shoulder. The grip wasn’t meant to be demanding but supportive. 

“Ye..Yes….” trembling and your tail proceeded to cover your legs in a form of self-defense. 

“Don’t worry. It’s not me you have to worry about. Jones is the sadistic motherfucker who summoned you here. I’ve seen things and…” She reached into her back pocket to pull out tiny bombs shaped like cockroaches. She also handed you a tiny circular detonator so you could set them off. 

“But…..you’re not-” 

“Do your best to survive, kid.” Her brown eyes radiated with sadness and regret. “And, I’m sorry….” She turned away from you so she wouldn’t soak in more guilt. 

The gate to the area had opened, and the countdown to face off with Alfred had begun. The arena was a thick forestry area with traps for you to set off. The announcer came onto the loudspeaker. 

“The next R2P match-up is between the pretty Persian Kitty Omega & everyone's favorite darling Hunter, BIG BAD JONES!” The crowd erupted in cheers. This fuels Alfred's ego. A wide, devilish smile spreads across his face. 

“I’m doing this for my sweet little brother Matthew! He’s going to LOVE having her as a surprise!” He lets out a hearty laugh. Alfred prepped his hunting gun and rope. Alfred even had enough influence to let the organizers give him bear traps to be set up in the forest and high-pitched whistles to hurt your ears. Alfred is downright giddy, and he gets to play matchmaker. But he’s got to ensure you’ll behave & this is the best way to do it. Break you into submission so that you’d be the perfect kitty cat for his sweet Alpha of a brother. Since it’s been over six months, he still didn't have the nerve to approach you. 

He put on his gloves and cracked his neck. He was ready for the battle. As the timer went down, he had already stepped out to begin. He didn’t have to wait—not at all. He was a lead Alpha. The standard rules didn’t apply to him. 

Your head was still pounding from the drugs that had been injected into your system earlier. You clenched the cockroach bug bombs and put the detonator in your pocket. When you felt your leg you were surprised that you still had your knife on you. 

‘They didn’t take it from me? Could it be that one or more of the Peacekeepers in the group could possibly be…..’

A bullet dart whizzed past your head. 

“The FUCK!?!?! I still have 30 seconds on the timer!” Your eyes glanced up to the huge timer in bright red that read 0:28 before the start. 

“Bwuahahahaha! Not really sweet lil fluffy cat~” He stalked towards you through the trees. You could see his form getting closer to you. You booked it beneath the protection of the denser part of the forested area. You had some hope to take cover and just maybe not get caught by the sadistic omega hunter. While on the run, you dropped all of your cockroaches on your path deeper into the forest. 

Alfred moved slowly without a real care in the world. He even had time to wave at the crowd & soak in the cheer. The horn to finally start had just rung out through the arena. Alfred’s grin was wide as the drone cameras eagerly followed him. 

“Who's ready to watch me win again and assign this perfect kitty darling to her proper mate!!!” The crowd burst into cheering once more. He breathed it in like an addictive drug one more time and dashed off to where he’d seen you run. 

Alfred was going to make quick work of you. 

You’d made it across the river by the time your senses heightened to know that Alfred was hot on your tail. Once your ears had perked up to hear that Alfred had made it to the spot where you’d left the detonation bugs, you swiftly pressed the detonation button. 

At the very least, that sweet Alpha peacekeeper had bought you some time. 

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* numerous flashes of bright, blinding light and explosives went off on Alfred. Smoke and fire had blinded and stunned him temporarily. You looked over your shoulder to see the miraculous gift given to you by the rouge peacekeeper. You kept running to find a hiding spot to evade Alfred for however long these stupid battles were supposed to last. 

“AUGH!” Alfred had been dazed from the miniature blasts of light and fire. 

The crowd gasped. 

“How did she get something like that?” 

“What the hell? Is this game rigged?” 

“MY HERO IS HURT!!!!” 

“Oh no! What’s going on???” 

Many other chatterings of the alike spread like wildfire amidst the crowd. Alfred had recovered himself from the ground within a minute or so. Once he was, he was pissed. He dusted himself off and cracked his knuckles at his neck. 

“Don’t worry, your hero is A-okay!” More praise was given to him. He pulled out a red button of his own. A high-pitched frequency that only dog and cat omega could hear pierced your eardrums as if bunches of needles were going through them. 

You yelled out in absolute agony from the place that you’d managed to hide yourself. You’d found a mossy log where you managed to hide your huge poofy tail. You had to get away from the speakers. You’d already given away your location with your screams. It felt like your head was going to crack like an egg. As you wiggled yourself out and started to run, you’d seen your nightmare come closer to you. 

“FUCK! FUCK!” You spat out your right hand and began to reach for your butterfly knife. As you tried to concentrate on where you were going while combatting your headache….

“CHOMP!” The closing of a loud metal contraption closed on you like a ravenous alligator had taken over one of your legs. You let out a blood-curdling shriek. Music to Alfred’s ears, in his opinion. Your screams cries, and harrowing battle that you were not meant to win were broadcasted for the crowd's enjoyment. 

“Get her HUNTER ALFRED!” 

“WOOOOOOO!” 

You could hear the gleeful cheering. You knew it was futile but you still wanted to try. You had to. 

Alfreds footsteps were only three feet from you. The high pitched screech had subsided at least. Your right hand prepared itself. Your tail stood up straight and fluffed out. 

“Awwwww poor sweet kitty. It’s your time. Give up will ya? I’m here to save you!” He crochet down to look at your tired and angry face.

You lunged at him since he was close enough with your butterfly knife in hand. You’d managed to give him a small scratch against his face drawing a few droplets of blood. He briskly grabbed your wrist and snatched it from your hand. 

“Looks like I have some peacekeepers to investigate and punish later.” He had a dark smile that painted his face. He puts your knife in his pocket and carried you to the center of the arena and raised you above his head as if you were a prized trophy lion he’d caught. 

Volcanic applause exploded from the crowd. They chanted his name in unison. “ALFRED! ALFRED! The greatest darling hunter Alfred!” 

*************************************************************************************

During all of this Canada was watching the whole ordeal. 

“Oh no poor girl. What the fuck has my stupid brother done???” His eyes filled with tears as the bear trap was still on your leg letting blood drip onto Alfreds head like a light rain.

*************************************************************************************

“Jenny! Jenny! Miss Peacekeeper Jenny!” A small voice called for the grumpy brown eyed Alpha with wavy red hair. 

“Yes, Lady Leictenstein? What are you doing here?” 

“Heat is going to be on you soon. I assume you only have an hour.” She grabbed her hand and ran towards a secret area of the massive arena. “I have your change of clothes & supplies you’ll need. We’ve got to get you to the undergrounds.” 

[chenfordspiral]

ch. 29 - love is patient

More thirsty Lucy with absolutely no filter at all and still driving Tim insane (you’re welcome), an anniversary Lucy wishes wasn’t one, and the 20-week anatomy scan.

early September 2026

Time seems to fly by with this pregnancy. Before they know it, another two weeks have passed. Between their busy work schedules, and now their, well, busier than ever sex life, time goes by fast. And yet, Lucy never runs out of energy. Which might just be the perfect way to prepare Tim for fatherhood because chances are pretty good that their child will grow up to be just as energetic as their mother.

It’s the first of their two days off, which in and of itself is a rarity these days, and Lucy is up at the crack of dawn and ready for a hike less than an hour later.

“Okay, it’s very unsettling to see you up and about this early. Sometimes I’m not sure you’re the same woman I fell in love with,” he yawns before taking another sip of his coffee.

Lucy levels him with a glare. “You know, Tamara, Kojo, and the baby and I can go by ourselves. We don’t need you.”

“Seriously man, you might wanna cool it with the jokes. One day she might actually kill you otherwise,” Tamara comments as she walks by to get herself a cup of coffee as well.

“What she said,” Lucy agrees with a serious nod. “You know I’d hate to kill my favorite person.”

“And yet we all know you’d probably do it.”

“In a heartbeat. No, actually, maybe not. Cause then I’d be responsible for my own heartbreak.” Her bottom lip begins to quiver, her irritation suddenly replaced by sadness. “I’d really miss you.”

Tim’s eyes widen in horror and he's internally kicking himself for having started this, so he sets his mug down on the counter to walk around to Lucy. As he reaches for her, though, she flinches away from him before he can actually touch her.

“Don’t touch me!” she cries.

“Woah, okay. Sorry. Wh-what do you need?”

“I don’t know!” she sobs, a hand covering her mouth as she turns to face Tim and bury her face in his chest without warning.

“O-okay. Come here.”

He hugs her body against his, a hand cupping the back of her head protectively. He locks eyes with Tamara leaning against the counter four feet away, her eyes wide.

“Wow,” she mouths.

Tim silently agrees with an almost indecipherable nod of his head. A moment later, Kojo is suddenly at their feet and letting out a pitiful noise as he nudges his snout against Lucy’s leg. She lifts her head off Tim’s chest and bends down to cup her boy’s head between both hands.

“I’m okay, boy. Promise.” But contrary to her words, another sob escapes her. She shakes her head. “I’m not okay. Tim,” she cries and promptly stands back up to bury her face in his chest again.

Neither Tim nor Tamara really know what to do right now, so they just stand in silence and wait until Lucy is ready to talk again. But neither is prepared for what she says next, either.

“Can we have sex before we leave?” she eventually mumbles loud enough for Tamara to hear.

“O-kay, I’m right here.”

keep reading on AO3.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC Writer of the Month: Princess-Geek

Each month CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers, and this month’s writer of the month is @princess-geek ! We hope you will enjoy learning more about her and her work below! The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page.

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog: princess-geek Blog Masterlist

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played? 

I think it was around the summer of 2018. I wanted to improve my English, and I was looking for a fun way to do it. Looking for apps on Google Play, I tripped over advertisements of “simulation” games, including Choices. It was the least bizarre on the list. The idea of transfiguring myself into another reality was quite appealing. The first book I played was “The Freshman - Book 1”

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

After playing the first books, I was thirsty for more. I decided to search online and found the magical world of fanfication. In my quest for more content, I found Tumblr. I read for a while without an account, but then I created a profile in December 2018.

3- How did you pick your blog name? 

It took days to pick. I wanted something that would represent my essence and not restrict my blog to the Choices world. I wanted it to lump together all my other interests.

After much thought, I came up with the name "princess-geek."

"Princess" because she was always very girly and fascinated by the world of princesses (Disney's fault).

"Geek" because even though it's not my only interest, since I was a teenager I really like technology and keeping up with the trends. I spent hours as a child discovering all the secrets of our home computer.

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!  

It was a song, “More than friends” by Jason Mraz ft Meghan Trainor . I was hooked on the song at the time, and I still love it.

5- How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I had never written fanfic until I joined the fandom. My first attempt was a very short story about Ethan x MC (Jane Silva). "Under the hot sun".  It's lost somewhere on Tumblr and I can't find it. Here is the link to my story in AO3.  

It was written in the summer of 2019, so I consider my shy start

6- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to write about? In both cases, the answer is Desire & Decorum, but I would love to try other stories like TRR and BLADES.

7- Share the first fanfic you wrote with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were writing it today?

Despite what I shared in question 5, I consider my first true fanfic was "Cinnamon Mouth", another Ethan Ramsey x MC (Dr. Jane Silva) story, posted on 20 September 2019.

It's a silly story, but I don't think I'd change a single comma, because it represents the beginning of something very important to me.

8- What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

It’s “Chapters III - First Impressions”. I love it because some important characters are  introduced and it has a bit of everything: fun moments, some mystery and drama

9- Do you have a fic that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to be but found could use a little more love?

I didn't expect you to like "Chapter VIII -Heart in ashes" as it's emotionally heavy, addressing topics such as death and mourning.

The fic “Winter Adventures - All’s fair in love and snowballs” could use a bit more love. It was a pleasure to write with @ezekielbhandarivalleros, and the chapter is so funny! I recommend it to anyone who wants to have a winter adventure in the comfort of the fireplace.

10- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? 

Fluff! Fluff!! Fluff!!! Life is complicated, that's why the world needs fluff stories that warm the heart and make us dream.

11- Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

Yes a bit. I've lived vicariously through my MC|OC Beatrice Foredale. We have some things in common, like curiosity, the dream of becoming a journalist and the will to change the world, although my ambitions are much more modest than hers. 

12- What element of writing do you struggle with most?

Dialogues. I am always afraid that they are not natural and fluid. As English is not my native language, there are subtleties that I don't understand, and I know that this affects my work.

13- Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

Yes, the victim is my new chapter. I wouldn't call it negligence, but a mismatch. When I have ideas, I don't have energy; When I have energy, I have no ideas, or often both. I hope can finish it soon. 

14- If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first? 

Only if it was someone I trusted completely. I have some fear of judgment. Not even my sister, who is one of those people of absolute trust, knows about my writing adventures. If it ever happens, I probably will recommend the fic “Cuteness & Mischievousness” because no one can don’t like puppies!

15 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing? 

The style of the Portuguese writer Eça de Queirós and Jane Auten are definitely my paradigms. Eça de Queirós is a master of descriptions and irony, elements that I invest a lot in my fics. Here on Tumblr, my inspiring muses are @missameliep (her main characters are so real that they become our friends, making us laugh and suffer with them), @noesapphic (Her plots are complex but hypnotic. We get lost in her worlds and we don't want to leave.) and @storyofmychoices (I marvel at the number of plots and characters she creates for her stories. Her blog is a cave of wonders!). In all three, I also deeply admire their dedication to writing and their enormous kind hearts.

16- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series? 

I'd love if my "Unspoken Desires" were a TV series. I think people would love the romance and drama.

17- Do you write original fiction? 

I tried several times throughout my life, but I was never successful. For now, I’m happy with fanfiction. 

18 -  What other hobbies do you have?

I love to read as much as I love to write. I like to take walks outdoors, do cross stitch, paint clothes and wooden pieces to offer to family and friends. And, whenever I can, get to know a new place.

19 - It’s Valentine’s Month! Tell us your feelings about the holiday (good or bad!) Do you have any Valentine’s Day fics planned? 

I do not give particular importance to the holiday. Love should be celebrated and demonstrated every day. However, I can say that I have fond memories of the holiday. While we were at school, a friend always wrote to us on this day to say how much she appreciated us. I still have some of those letters. Perhaps by that date a new chapter will be released. Although it was not intended for the occasion, love is the central theme of the chapter.

21: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to!) 

Despite all the ups and downs, this fandom has been a wonderful place to be. Thank you so much for all the work your blog has done and for this opportunity to talk about me and my work.

[brookston]

Holidays 9.19

Holidays

Aortic Disease Awareness Day

Armed Forces Day (Chile)

Arms Designer Day (Russia)

Bestselling Books Day

Biosphere Day (Australia)

Blessed Rainy Day (Bhutan)

Celebration of Labour (French Republic)

Children’s Day (Elder Scrolls)

Civil Aviation Day (Moldova)

Cosmetic Bridge Day

Day of the First Appearance of the Slovak National Council

Eleven Days of Global Unity, Day 9: Freedom

Fawlty Towers Day

Festival of Convictions (French Republic)

Frank Zappa Day (Baltimore) [also 8.9]

Hermione Granger Day

Holy Batman Day

Indra Jatra (Kathmandu Valley, Nepal)

International Aortic Dissection Awareness Day

International Athletic Training & Therapy Day

International Hop Like a Kangaroo Day

International Snakebite Awareness Day

International Talk Like A Pirate Day [  website ]

International Women's Commerce Day

Iota Phi Theta Day

Kenny Chesney Day (Tennessee)

Meow Like a Pirate Day

Mid-Autumn Festival Holiday (China)

Miners Memorial Day (Australia)

Moscow Day (Russia)

National Day of Chamame (Argentina)

National Cat DNA Day

National Ear Health Day

National Food Not Phones Day

National Jude Day

National Orthotics & Prosthetics Day (Canada)

National Meow Like a Pirate Day

National Service Day (Belize)

National Stillbirth Prevention Day

National Theater Day (Brazil)

National Woman Road Warrior Day

North Texas Giving Day (Texas)

919 Day (North Carolina)

919 mm Day

Smiley Face Emoticon Day

Thai Museum Day

Trollface Day

Visit a Sick Friend Today Day

What the Fork Day

Women’s Suffrage Day (New Zealand)

Food & Drink Celebrations

National Butterscotch Pudding Day

Popcorn Day

World Day of the Apertif

Independence & Related Days

Constitution Day (Nepal)

Hosamia (Declared; 2016) [unrecognized]

Meytallia (Declared; 2013) [unrecognized]

Saint Kitts and Nevis (from UK, 1983)

3rd Thursday in September

Ask An Atheist Day [3rd Thursday]

Free Queso Day [3rd Thursday]

International Day of Listening [3rd Thursday]

National Donor Recruitment Professionals Day [3rd Thursday]

National Family Business Day (UK) [3rd Thursday]

National PawPaw Day [3rd Thursday]

National Sour Beer Da [3rd Thursday] (also 9.20)y

National Teach Ag Day [3rd Thursday]

RAINN Day [3rd Thursday]

Responsible Dog Ownership Day (AKC) [3rd Thursday]

Theater Thursday [3rd Thursday of Each Month]

Thirsty Thursday [Every Thursday]

Three for Thursday [Every Thursday]

Thrift Store Thursday [Every Thursday]

Throwback Thursday [Every Thursday]

Transit Safety Thursday [3rd Thursday]

Turkey Thursday [3rd Thursday of Each Month]

Weekly Holidays beginning September 19 (3rd Full Week of September)

Sour Beer Week (thru 9.25) [Begins 3rd Thursday]

Festivals Beginning September 19, 2024

Adirondack Balloon Festival (Glens Falls, New York) [thru 9.22]

AppleJack Festival (Nebraska City, Nebraska) [thru 9.29]

Bourbon & Beyond (Louisville, Kentucky) [thru 9.22]

Clarkson Honeyfest (Clarkson, Kentucky) [thru 9.21]

Clay County Golden Delicious Festival (Clay, West Virginia) [thru 9.22]

Draft Horse Classic and Harvest Fair (Grass Valley, California) [thru 9.22]

Dwight Harvest Days (Dwight, Illinois) [thru 9.22]

Euphoria (Greenville, South Carolina) [thru 9.22]

Fantastic Fest (Austin, Texas) [thru 9.26]

The Frankenmuth Oktoberfest (Frankenmuth, Michigan) [thru 9.22]

Greek Festival (Columbia, South Carolina) [thru 9.22]

Harvest Moon Celebration (Farmington, Michigan) [thru 9.21]

Mid-South Fair (Southaven, Mississippi) [thru 9.29]

Montana Brewers Conference (Missoula, Montana) [thru 9.20]

Nappanee Apple Festival (Nappanee, Indiana) [thru 9.22]

Nez Perce County Fair (Lewiston, Idaho) [thru 9.22]

North Georgia State Fair (Marietta, Georgia) [thru 9.29]

Oktoberfest Zinzinnati (Cincinnati, Ohio) [thru 9.22]

OPA!HOMA (Tulsa, Oklahoma) [thru 9.21]

Plano Balloon Festival (Plano, Texas) [thru 9.22]

Pygmalion Festival (Urbana, Illinois) [thru 9.21]

Ravenna Balloon A-Fair (Ravenna, Ohio) [thru 9.22]

Sugar Creek Music Festival (Benton, Illinois) [thru 9.21]

Walnut Festival (Walnut Creek, California) [thru 9.22]

Wenatchee River Salmon Festival (Wenatchee, Washington) [thru 9.21]

Feast Days

Alonso de Orozco Mena (Christian; Saint)

Arthur Rackham (Artology)

Augustin Pajou (Artology)

Emilie de Rodat (Christian; Saint)

Eustochius, Bishop of Tours (Christian; Saint)

Feast of Gula (Ancient Babylonia; Goddess of Birth; Everyday Wicca)

Feast of Mato (The Bear Spirit; Lakota & Oglala Sioux)

Feast of Our Lady of La Salette (Roman Catholic; France)

Feast of San Gennaro (Christian; Saint)

Feast of Thoth (Egyptian God of Wisdom & Magic)

Feralia (Day of Purification; Pagan)

Frederick Ruple (Artology)

Ganesh Chaturthi (Indian Elephant God Festival)

Goeric of Metz (Christian; Saint)

Grape Pear Crisp Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Ingrid Jonker (Writerism)

International Forgiveness Day (Jainism)

International Talk Like a Pirate Day (Pastafarian)

Januarius (Western Christianity)

Jubilee of the Moth Moons (Shamanism)

Laurie R. King (Writerism)

Lucy (Christian; Saint)

March of the Reanimated Corpses Day (Church of the SubGenius)

Nine Ages of the Faery Kind (Celtic Book of Days)

Our Lady of La Salette (Christian; Saint)

Pablita Velarde (Artology)

Peleus, Pa-Termuthes, and companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Racine (Positivist; Saint)

Sequanus (a.k.a. Seine; Christian; Saint)

Slimey Ole Tom (Muppetism)

Theodore of Tarsus (Anglican Communion, Roman Catholic Church, Eastern Orthodox Church)

Trophimus, Sabbatius, and Dorymedon (Christian; Saints)

William Golding (Writerism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Shakku (赤口 Japan) [Bad luck all day, except at noon.]

Umu Limnu (Evil Day; Babylonian Calendar; 43 of 60)

Premieres

Amadeus (Film; 1984)

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, by Michael Chabon (Novel; 2000)

Away From the World, by The Dave Matthews Band (Album; 2012)

Best in Show (Film; 2000)

Block Party or The Happy Hedsman (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S3, Ep. 110; 1961)

Blue Velvet (Film; 1986)

Boardwalk Empire (TV Series; 2010)

The Book of Merlyn, by T.H. White (Novel; 1977)

Bosko Shipwrecked! (WB LT Cartoon; 1931)

Doogie Howser, M.D. (TV Series; 1989)

East of Eden, by John Steinbeck (Novel; 1952)

The Egyptian, by Mika Waltari (Novel; 1945)

ER (TV Series; 1994)

Fawlty Towers (UK TV Series; 1975)

Fine Feathered Friend (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1960)

Fishing by the Sea (Heckle & Jeckle Cartoon; 1946)

Fly, by The Dixie Chicks (Album; 1999)

Funny Girl (Film; 1968)

Goodfellas (Film; 1990)

The Good Place (TV Series; 2016)

Gossip Girl (TV Series; 2007)

Gramps to the Rescue (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1963)

Grendel, by John Gardner (Novel; 1971)

Hector and the Search for Happiness (Film; 2014)

Hobo’s Holiday (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1963)

How I Met Your Mother (TV Series; 2005)

Igor (Animated Film; 2008)

I’ll Never Crow Again (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1941)

L.A. Confidential (Film; 1997)

Lady and His Lamp (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1964)

The Mary Tyler Moore Show (TV Series; 1970)

The Maze Runner (Film; 2014)

Moneyball (Film; 2011)

Monkey Business (Film; 1931)

Oh Teacher (Ub Iwerks Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Disney Cartoon; 1927)

Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by Paulo Freire (Philosophical Book; 1968)

Pluto’s Party (Disney Cartoon; 1952)

Rhythm Nation 1814, by Janet Jackson (Album; 1989)

Scooby-Doo! Pirates Ahoy! (WB Animated Film; 2006)

Secondhand Lions (Film; 2003)

Spice, by the Spice Girls (Album; 1996)

Squirrel in the Scope of Ring Around the Rocky (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S3, Ep. 109; 1961)

A Thousand Acres (Film; 1997)

Toy Town Hall (WB MM Cartoon; 1936)

2 Broke Girls (TV Series; 2011)

Uncle Joey Comes to Town (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1941)

Underworld (Film; 2003)

The Virginian (TV Series; 1962)

Yanks (Film; 1979)

Zipping Along (WB MM Cartoon; 1953)

Today’s Name Days

Arnulf, Igor, Jnuarius, Wilma (Austria)

Emilija, Januarije, Suzana, Teodor, Željko (Croatia)

Zita (Czech Republic)

Constantia (Denmark)

Erna, Marna (Estonia)

Reija (Finland)

Émilie (France)

Januarius, Thorsten, Wilhelmine (Germany)

Savatios (Greece)

Vilhelmina (Hungary)

Gennaro (Italy)

Muntis, Varnesis, Verners (Latvia)

Girvinas, Vilhelmina, Vytė (Lithuania)

Connie, Konstanse (Norway)

Alfons, Alfonsyna, January, Konstancja, Sydonia, Teodor, Więcemir (Poland)

Konštantín (Slovakia)

Genaro, Jenaro (Spain)

Fredrika (Sweden)

Monroe, Morgan, Morgann, Morganna, Morganne, Precious, Sawyer (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 263 of 2024; 103 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of Week 38 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Muin (Vine) [Day 19 of 28]

Chinese: Month 8 (Guy-You), Day 17 (Bing-Xu)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 16 Elul 5784

Islamic: 15 Rabi I 1446

J Cal: 23 Gold; Twosday [23 of 30]

Julian: 6 September 2024

Moon: 96%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 11 Shakespeare (10th Month) [Voltaire]

Runic Half Month: Ken (Illumination) [Day 13 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 92 of 94)

Week: 3rd Full Week of September

Zodiac: Virgo (Day 29 of 32)

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 21, 1973

The boy clicks on a lamp, and Daniel’s eyes throb in pain as they adjust. First thing he’s seen in… he’s not sure how long. But it’s a little desk lamp, with an orange plastic shade, glowing gently in the center of the room. 

Daniel hadn’t heard anyone else come in. And he wonders, in all the loops he did in the darkness, how he hadn’t noticed the table here. But he sees everything now; the damp bricks and dirty floor, the sealed window. 

“If you wanna come have a seat,” the boy says. He slides a microphone to the other side of the table. “That way it will pick up your voice.”

“My voice,” Daniel says. His throat hurts. It rasps out of him. He’s sick down here. Been screaming too much. For, how long now? All he’s done is scream.

“Don’t worry,” he says. He’s smiling, so warm. Bright and sweet. “I know it can feel weird the first time. I’ll warm you up though. You wanna come sit?”

Daniel recognizes this boy, but doesn’t. And it feels unsafe, because he’s been down here for—days? Weeks? Years?—and nothing is safe anymore. But it’s the first face he’s seen, and he wants to cry.

Legs are weak as he stands, but it’s only a few feet to the table. It’s so smooth and cold under his hands as he sits, and he stares at it. It looks like the one from his kitchen growing up. Yellow formica with a shiny silver frame. 

“So where are you from?” the boy asks. He leans back in his seat as he lights a cigarette, then slides the lighter and pack over to Daniel. So relaxed as he takes the drag, as he blows the smoke out the corner of his mouth, away from the microphone. 

“Um. Connecticut,” Daniel mumbles. His stomach growls as he lights up; not a great substitute for food, but he hasn’t smoked in so long, either. For a moment he’s flooded with complete ecstasy as it hits his bloodstream, as it fills his brain. The first time since he’s been here that he isn’t in pain. 

“Your folks both around? What was the family unit like?”

Did Daniel really interview people like this? The boy nudges an ashtray towards him. Daniel’s mom had this same one, too, for the kitchen. On the same yellow table. It’s sea-green and shaped like a conch. He narrows his eyes as he ashes into it, wondering what this kid is trying to pull on him. 

“Yeah, they were around. They’re normal, I guess.”

“Siblings?”

“Just me. My cousin was around a lot, though. They lived nearby.”

“Tell me about your cousin.”

Daniel glances at the microphone and can’t remember how he got here, why he’s being interviewed. Maybe about how he was abducted one time and lived in a black room. Or maybe he saw behind the curtain and knew there were secrets in the universe, that the cosmos crawls with monsters. 

“I dunno. She’s cool. Her name’s Alice. She’s older than me so she used to babysit a lot. But she’d take me to movies and stuff. She didn’t treat me like a little kid.”

“Does Alice know where you are?”

Daniel swallows. He’s so fucking thirsty. His lips are so chapped. 

“Do you?”

And the boy is so radiant. The picture of health. Mouth quirking into a grin like Daniel made a joke.

“Do I what?”

“Do… you know. Where I am.”

He shrugs. He lifts a finger to gesture for silence, and stops the tape to flip it over. The click of the buttons is so fucking loud in this damp room. So loud that Daniel flinches. And the sound of the cassette sliding into the deck makes him think of the teeth penetrating him. The wound burns, the pain glowing outward, down over his collar bone, tingling in his arm.

Daniel’s heart races, the way it had when Louis grabbed him. The way it had when he saw Armand in that doorway. 

“Do you think this is what happens when you die?” the kid asks. “That’s really what I wanted to ask you about.”

“When I die?”

“Is it just a cold dark room, just like this? Maybe it’s just nothing. Maybe it’s barren and full of rot. And completely black. And you just spend eternity like this, in the nothingness, and you never feel pleasure again, just the hunger, just the smell of your own piss, just the pain.”

“I don’t believe in stuff like that,” Daniel grumbles. He reaches for another cigarette. 

“Are you gonna tell me how your mom could only get you to go to church twice a year? Dragging you to midnight mass?”

“How do you know that?”

“Does this room make you wish you’d gone more? Maybe death won’t be like this for her. She put the time in. She played the game.”

“I don’t believe in that!” he snaps. 

Throat hurts. The smoke doesn’t help, but he feels a little calmer as he breathes it in.

“Do you even know if you’re alive?”

The boy’s eyebrow raises. He brushes a strand of hair to the side. Leans his chin into the palm of his hand as he waits for the answer.

Daniel thinks he might start screaming again. 

It comes and goes, down here, in the blackness. The screaming. Each time he thinks he won’t be able to stop. And he doesn’t remember stopping. Doesn’t remember anything, just comes in and out, and it’s completely black, floating here in nothing. 

Am I fucking alive, he asks. 

Too hungry to think of a snarky retort. Too tired. And as the question lingers between them he realizes he doesn’t have an answer. 

[previous day] | [next day]

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Why the Harkles Are So Thirsty - Top News in the USA by u/wenfot

Why the Harkles Are So Thirsty - Top News in the USA I don't know about you, but the only thing more exhausting in the US than the political nightmare (no matter which side you're on) is the deluge of "exclusives" from our least favorite couple.The cover of People Magazine is either Snoop Dogg or Christopher Reeve (way more interesting). Us is going with George Clooney. The same day as Harry's birthday, the Emmy Awards are taking place. This is a HUGE deal here (the equivalent of the BAFTAS in the UK). Tonight the MTV VMAs are on. Catherine's video, the King's upcoming Australia trip, David Grohl's fathering a child outside of marriage, Diddy's sexual assault charges, Taylor Swift doing basically anything, college and pro football...and we aren't even at the end of the week yet. The bottom line is that there are a lot more interesting things going on here than the spoiled antics of two D list royals. The more they throw out puff pieces, the less people care.In the words of my late Grandmother: how can we miss you if you don't go away? post link: https://ift.tt/ftzNkAF author: wenfot submitted: September 11, 2024 at 06:07PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.